Respect
by celestial-insanity
Summary: From Sten's point of view, we learn the meaning of respect among friends and comrades.


**A/N: I am using characters and concepts from my upcoming fic. I OWN NOTHING! :)**

**MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

**Campsite, near the Brecillian Forest (Sten)**

The campfire burned steadily in the coming night, it's enchanted yellow flames reaching higher than they should have in the windy eastern air whirling off from the Amaranthine Sea. The dancing shadows flickered within the sword resting on my lap, red on silver. It was a glare human eyes would have found uncomfortable to bear, but I bore it anyway. My eyes traveled over the length of the sword, the perfection of the steel forged in accordance with the pommel, and I was disappointed.

Yes. I was _disappointed_. There were nicks on the blade from the entirety of heads I've hewn, darkspawn and men alike, and there was a dent near the hilt established from an ex-golem who'd given us trouble in the Anvil of the Void. A long, dark scratch smeared the bright silver, barely discernable through the flames.

A warrior's first duty was to his armor and equipment, and Asala had seen better days than this. I felt irrationally angry at the imperfections war had raged on my blade, and it was with ill grace that I set out to repair them. Humans, dwarves, and elves were so thin-skinned that fires burned through their fleshy tissue easily, but my race - the qunari - had been made in the fires of war. We had adapted.

Which was why, when Alistair saw my hands in the very epicenter of the flames, he didn't question it. He seemed to pick up on my irritable mood and braved it anyway, taking a seat near me to watch. His armor clinked annoyingly at the movement, grating my nerves. Hadn't he oiled it lately? What if the Warden were in trouble and her life depended on his stealthy movement? I could move silently when I wished, for a warrior was nothing without stealth. Not for the first time I wondered if the Chantry was really as stupid and layabout as it seemed.

They probably were, and I decided to point it out. "Don't they ever teach you to maintain your armor during your training?"

Alistair picked idly at a piece of grass by his meal, twirling the blade in his fingers. "I don't know, I think they probably did, but I must have fallen asleep during that lesson. So sad, don't you think?"

"It would be wise to fix the problem before somebody fixes it for you."

"Sure." He did have his smart moments. For instance, he did not argue. "Don't you want some dinner? Leliana's making me offer."

"No," I said shortly, running my hands over the silver metal. "I cannot eat until I repair Asala."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Alistair said wistfully. "I mean, I do get it, really. They used to drill us day in and day out, inspecting before meals at every turn. Horrible, really. Probably why I fell out of the routine–while the cat's away, the mice shall play, or so they say."

"I do not get that idiom, nor do I care," I said. "Hand me that hammer."

The metal normally would not have wilted over anything but dragon's flames, and even then it would have taken a while, but among the mages Abigail was a prodigy and I respect talent. Fire was her speciality, an exceedingly dangerous area of choice - or so I've been told from the older witch - and so it made sense for her to tame and master it as she has tamed and mastered us all. She would have made an excellent qunari warrior if she were male.

The yellow flames which grew as tall as I did may have looked like a normal fire, but it was not. Blue fire stands out in the middle of a forest, after all, she said. It was enchanted with energy only she seemed to be able to possess, and she had made it especially strong tonight so I could repair Asala.

In fact, the only reason I was allowed to stick my hands in the fire itself was because of words whispered to her tame beast not to harm myself. It was a frightening display of power, yes, even for somebody as world-weary as I. I was quite content to let Alistair think I was man enough to face the flames myself. Beads of sweat had already popped out on his brow from the proximity.

The metal was now soft enough for me to weld back into shape. I could feel the witch-child's eyes on me as I worked, and, most curiously, the old woman's as well. The others took no notice of it, but I, blessed with unique sensory techniques, noticed it right away.

Oh, how Wynne shot those glances in my direction, as if measuring the enchantment Abigail had placed upon the fire. It was my guess she was wondering whether or not she should help the Warden by calling on her own powers, but she was still weak it seemed. After her fall, the Warden wasn't about to let her do anything until the old lady explained.

Which she should have been doing by now instead of just staring at me! Farshaara, did nothing get done here? It was only when I lifted my gaze to look at our leader did I notice that she was laying on the ground behind Alistair, her eyes closed and her breathing even. She looked as if she were sleeping, but when the other Warden caught my eye he just shook his head. "Meditating," he said. "It's one of those weird exercises the mages do, see how long they can control something or keep it going. Like building your brain muscles instead of your arm muscles."

"As long as there is no mistake while I do this," I grunted, looking back at my blade, my Asala. The dog splashed into the lake behind me. With a few more deft blows I began to hammer the blade back into line. I transferred it to a large slab of stone I had carried over for just that purpose and began to straighten it out with my bare hands.

Alistair looked on, horrified. "Doesn't that hurt?"

"Yes." And it did, but I paid no attention. I inhaled deeply, basking in the scent of burning metal, and walked over to the lake with it in hand. Alistair followed behind me. I checked to make sure the dog was out of the way, then plunged it straight into the water, point down first. It steamed in my hand for the briefest of moments, and I drew it out. The fire behind me abruptly vanished, but I heard something else.

My sword... Icy water droplets began to freeze and crystalize, hardening the blade. It traveled from the tip of Asala towards the pommel, freezing just before it reached my hand. I watched in fascination as the _kadan_'s magic shaped my blade in the moonlight, hardly daring to touch it. As I watched the ice began to melt except for small pockets here and there, filling out the gaps and edged with a craftsman's touch.

Perhaps it was a sign, though I didn't particularly care for the common folk's silly misinterpretations of random events. But this was my sword, the only one I should have been able to bear at all.

_Broken in war, re-forged in magic ice. Does this mean I am beginning to rely on mages after all? An astonishing thought, if no doubt true._ _I would rather have the three of these spellweavers than every abomination in our army. The Fire, the Beast, and the Healer._

She spoke, then. "Did it work?"

"Yes," I said stiffly, still gazing at it. "You have made it whole again."

And then she was beside me, scrutinizing it in the weak light. "Interesting. I was sort of going for that effect, but I didn't think I'd get it. You'll probably want to go see Sandal now to make that permanent, because I won't be able to keep my attention upon this while we are fighting."

"Understood," I said, nodding. "Thank you, _kadan._"

"It's no trouble," she said, smiling up at me with those disconcerting blue-gray eyes of her's. Farshaara, must her eyes be so light? I was still unsettled by it. "I trust you don't need the fire anymore?"

"No," I told her. "But it was a great help."

Abigail was a woman forged in the fires of war. Once she had been timid, shy, and unsure of how to help. I'd scoffed at her then, calling her all sorts of ridiculous names in my mind... but now? Now I was glad I had stayed. Perhaps nobody's place in the world was set in stone, though I wouldn't go and tell my brethren that. I'd seen her grow into something wonderful.

_Or perhaps her place has always been set like I believed, but she had to have these experiences to become who she was meant to become?_

Bah, here I was wondering about spiritual conundrums. I wasn't about to waste my time on _that._ I would accept who I was and move on with it, or perhaps I would begin to wail as much as these Fereldens. Or become like the _bard_, Leliana, spouting religious nonsense and finding meaning in the most mundane things. I've never witnessed a catastrophe, but I am _assured_ that if I were to become like her the entire world would just have to cut itself in half.

Morrigan raised her hand, gesturing to the fire pit. A sphere of fire rose a foot off of the ground, emitting less heat than _kadan'_s had, and the witch-child began her own meditation. I would have bet the rest of Alistair's meal that she wished she had our leader's prodigious skill, but it would have to do.

I watched Abigail say something to Wynne, and by the way she was gesturing at her leftovers it was plainly clear she was encouraging the older woman to eat the rest. Wynne said something, embarrassed, but she wasn't about to be denied. After she took a few bites Abigail nodded smartly and said a goodnight to the rest of them before crawling into her tent.

"I'm glad she's on our side," Alistair muttered, nearly giving me a start. I instantly berated myself for it. I'd allowed myself to focus too closely on the Grey Warden and not on my own surroundings. "Creepy, isn't it?"

"What is so creepy about power that demands respect?" I asked him, scratching my chin. Stubble was beginning to grow there, but I no longer cared. Oghren was pushing me to grow a fine dwarven beard, as he called it. Perhaps I would, but I doubted I would dress mine up so... elaborately.

"It's not only that, though," Alistair said. "It's almost like the way she carried herself. She's so assertive now. Duncan chose wisely."

"Indeed."

I began to move back towards the fire, aware of the fact that Alistair had decided to follow me. I wondered why this was, and found it confusing. Did he want to socialize or something? Humans are so different from us that it's disconcerting for one who has been among his kind for so long.

"That's an awesome sword, by the way," Alistair said. "So wonderfully made. I remember thinking that when you took out those golems in Orzammar. So I was wondering, have your people ever visited with the dwarves before, or at least have an alliance?"

"You are asking if I know of any treaties or trade secrets being passed between the qunari and the dwarves?" I asked him. He nodded. "If we did, it's only because we conquered their island nations. They were studying volcanic rock and how they would integrate it into weapons. We were lucky with the timing."

"Oh..." Alistair chewed on his tongue a bit awkwardly and bent down to retrieve his food. "Well, that's perfectly lovely. So your blade is... made of this rock?"

"Yes." If he asked more I wouldn't be able to tell him. The secrets of the blade-forging was jealously guarded by our master smiths, passed down from dead dwarf to qunari to qunari. "It is a very _fine_ sword."

"And the name, 'Asala.' Does that mean anything?"

I looked at him and snorted. "A qunari never reveals the meaning of his name nor sword to any outside of his clan, the Beresaad. How ever many tenants I have dropped of my people to live in this strange perversion of a world you call Ferelden, I will not compromise my honor."

"Right," Alistair said slowly, drawing the word out. "Well, I don't wish to... compromise your honor, then, Sten." He laughed a little nervously and looked down at the food in his hand. _Breaking eye contact. Imbecile. _"So... any more work to do, or are you going to join us for dinner?"

The rest of the group had retreated from the fire so I could finish my work and were eating in a semicircle near the tents. A plate of food had been left out for me, and the merchant and Sandal were entertaining them with stories of Orzammar. The two hadn't got on well with Oghren, whom they felt had lost his stone-sense, and the surly old dwarf was sitting across the lake with the dog and, for some miraculous reason, Zevran.

Zevren likes men. I hope Oghren remembers that.

I let Alistair lead me to the circle, and the first thing I did was approach Sandal. "Enchantment," I told him, handing him the sword. "Can you lock this spell in for me?"

"Enchantment!" the younger dwarf squealed happily. He took the sword in his fingers and waddled off to his caravan. I watched him go and gestured for Morrigan, who was not joining in the socialization at all and was standing at her separate campground, to watch him. She nodded, yawned, and moved over to stand on the higher knoll, gazing down at the young boy.

Some respect was paid with money. Others were paid with brutality. Mine...

Leliana handed me a plate of food, smiling at me while she asked if I would sit down with them for a while and tell us some war stories.

My respect and loyalty was paid in full by this group of people. However annoying they were, they had their uses, and I knew there was not another group in Ferelden who would be able to stand up to the Blight as we have.

We would win. I was confident of it.


End file.
